


Bedside Manner

by PusillanimousBitch1138



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Amputation, Angst, Coma, F/M, Injury, Post-Ending, Prosthetics, Reunion, fluff? kinda? if you squint?, post-Citadel, reunited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 11:57:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20446790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PusillanimousBitch1138/pseuds/PusillanimousBitch1138
Summary: Garrus refuses to believe Shepard is dead, and does everything in his power to get back to her side, except the Citadel really did a number on her.





	Bedside Manner

**Author's Note:**

> This was part of a quote prompt. The quote was "So, it was you." 
> 
> Also, I drew my Shepard? I'm gonna stick it on at the beginning so I don't ruin the mood at the end. It's not good, but the prosthetics are what I'm picturing.

(Vikara Shepard)

The placard feels wrong in his hands, the letters imprinted upon it swimming in his mind as though his translator were not working, though he knows it is. He runs a talon over each one, tracing its shape though he does not see them. Instead he sees her face, her violet eyes sat above her freckled cheekbones, could smell the mango shampoo still delicate in her maroon curls, can taste the remnants of overly sweet coffee upon her lips always painted deep red. _Commander Vikara Shepard_. It feels wrong in his hands, blasphemous. _She can’t be dead._ Garrus takes a step closer to the wall, his friends and crewmates gathered around to witness this memorialization of their fearless leader, but as he looks up at the names already placed there and thinks back on those he was witness to himself—Thane Krios, Mordin Solus, Kaidan Alenko, not to mention the six crewmembers they’d lost in the crash on this blasted planet and the dozen they’d lost prior to the attack—there is a niggling in the back of his mind, telling him that this is wrong. _She is not dead. _

He looks back down once more to the placard then clenches his fists around them and turns to his friends. “She’s out there.”

They look at each other for a moment. The crewmen are sharing hesitant glances, as though they feel he has gone crazy (and perhaps he has, who’s to say?) but those closest to him, to her, seem to be considering his words. Joker is first to move, taking an unsteady step towards him. After a long, tense moment in which they share a prolonged look, having a conversation without words, Joker beams and clasps his hand on Garrus’s shoulder. “We’d better get moving, then. Donnely, Daniels, Tali, let’s move. We’ve gotta get this old girl in the air, dammit! Our commander is waiting for us!”

The crew snaps to attention and scatters to lend hands where they can, and Garrus looks down once more to the placard in his hands. With a shake of his head, he presses the metal against his chest and lets out a soft chuckle. “Not just yet, Shepard,” he purrs. “That bar up there hasn’t opened yet, not for you.” With a quick turn on his heel, he drops the placard onto the nearest surface and makes his way to the engines.

Xxx

The work is slow going, but the voyage is unbearable. What took three weeks to get the Normandy airborne takes them six months to get within comms range of the Sol system. Garrus had taken point as Acting Commander given the way Shepard had appointed him as her unofficial/official second-in-command. He’d been surprised that it had been Kaidan who suggested it, had expected Kaidan to want to take command himself being the highest ranking Alliance officer aboard, but Garrus had appreciated the gesture. The moral of the crew was hard to keep up, particularly given how close the calls were between planets upon which they could resupply, but once they crossed the comms threshold, there was not a voice to be heard upon the ship.

Garrus is stood behind the pilot, a hand gripped tightly onto the leather of the seat. Joker’s finger hovers over the comms button, trembling and not due to the shaking of the engines. He looks up at the turian, hesitation and fear on his face, mirroring the icy cold grip of anticipation in the turian’s heart. But years of military training help Garrus to keep a steady face, keep his back straight. They lock eyes for a moment before Garrus nods once, curtly. It is all Joker needs to brace himself and, with a gulp, turn back towards the controls. Garrus clears his throat and leans down just a smidge so the microphone might pick him up better. “Attention everyone. This is Acting Commander Vakarian. We’ve just crossed the communications threshold for the Sol System and are about to make contact. We know you’re just as anxious as us to know what’s what, so we will be playing the communique over the ship’s comm system.” He pauses, Shepard’s violet eyes and crooked grin snapping to his mind. He clears his throat and adds a softer, less formal, “As the humans say… Fingers crossed.” Straightening up once more, he taps a talon against Joker’s chair and takes the smallest of steps closer. Behind him, he can hear Vega and Liara stepping into the cockpit, can smell Kaidan and Tali waiting near the door. Liara steps closer to them and places her hand upon Garrus’s shoulder and gives him a nervous, watery-eyed smile. Garrus nods at her then looks down at Joker once more. “Mr. Moreau, by your leave.”

Joker nods, more to himself than anyone else. “Aye, aye, sir.” He taps a few buttons on the console and clears his throat. “This is Normandy SR-2 calling any Alliance personnel. Does anybody read?”

There’s silence, crushing and palpable throughout the entire ship. It’s as though everyone is afraid to breathe.

“I repeat. This is the Normandy SR-2, calling Alliance personnel. Do you read me?”

Garrus can hear his heartbeat, can almost hear Joker’s. Joker shakes his head and looks up at the turian, a lost look on his face. Garrus clicks his mandibles in thought, unsure of what to do. He tilts his chin towards the comm, gestures for Joker to try again.

“Alliance personnel. This is James Moreau aboard the Normandy SR-2. _Please_, does _anybody_ read me?” The desperation in his voice is subtle but felt throughout the whole ship.

Kaidan _tsk_s once, turns on his heel and mumbles a weak and crestfallen, “Useless.” He manages to get six steps away before the crackling of the comm halts his steps, but Garrus is no longer listening to the crewman.

“…is Central Command, do you read, Normandy?”

Joker (and many of the crew) lets out a whoop and throws his hat in the air. “Yes, yes, Central Command, we read you loud and clear!”

Garrus lets out a sigh of relief but does not let much more into his heart. _Shepard._ _We need to know about Shepard._

“Normandy, what is your ship’s status?”

Joker relays their position and the relevant health of the ship, but Garrus’s mind is buzzing. _They’re so close. _

After a moment of silence, Joker begins to grow worried they’ve lost the signal if his tinkering with the controls is any indication. Finally, just when he’s about to change the channel to try on a different frequency, a familiar voice breaks through. “Normandy SR-2? This is Admiral Hackett. It’s damn good to hear your voice, Mr. Moreau.”

Joker lets out another whoop and calls back, a little too excited, “Believe me, sir, the feeling is mutual!”

Garrus clears his throat and leans down to speak. “Admiral Hackett, sir. Garrus Vakarian. You’re on shipwide frequency, Admiral.”

There’s a chuckle in Hackett’s ton as he calls back, “I’ll be sure to keep it civil, then.”

Garrus wishes he could allow the Admiral his joviality, but the violet eyes in his mind are growing farther with each passing second. “Admiral, sir, please. We need to know.” His voice cracks a little, even through his translator. “The Commander…?” He can’t say her name. Not yet. Seven months since the Citadel and he hasn’t said her name once, as if saying it aloud would dispel the illusion of hope.

The silence on the other side is too long, stretches for an eternity in which Garrus thinks he may go mad. Finally, after what feels like years, the Admiral answers, “The body of Admiral David Anderson was retrieved from the wreckage of the Citadel three days following the attack. Commander Vikara Shepard was found two days later.” Garrus falls to his knees, slumped against Joker’s chair, and breath does not come to him. Liara’s gentle hand is upon his shoulders, and for a moment he wonders if the entire ship can’t hear how his subvocals are keening in pain. “She’s alive.”

_She… Alive? She? Shepard? My Shepard? She’s? She’s alive? _

He can’t hear anything between his own involuntary screeching of his subvocals in celebration and the crews’ much louder and more uproarious cheers. It seems the Admiral knows to wait because he is not trying to speak. Once the crew settles down enough, Garrus clears his throat and walks closer to the comm panel, still upon his knees. “C-Can…” He clears his throat, slipping back into military mode. “May we speak with her?”

The Admiral pauses for another moment, and Garrus lets himself hope that the next voice he hears will be hers, will be her teasing him. _“Crying over me, Garrus? That doesn’t seem like you.” _The steepness with which his heart falls when the Admiral’s is the next voice he hears is utterly crushing. “Perhaps we’d better speak on a private channel, Garrus.”

Garrus glances up from his place on the floor at the others in the cockpit, takes in Vega’s defiant stance and Kaidan’s firm expression. “Admiral, forgive the insubordination, but there’s no way in hell this crew would miss out on any information about our girl.”

The Admiral chuckles slightly, and Garrus can imagine him nodding. “Very well then. You may want to brace yourselves, crew. I’m not going to sugarcoat it.” He sighs, and Garrus pictures him sitting down in a chair, face worn from the strain of rebuilding. “When we found her, she was just barely hanging on. Her implants, docs said they were the only thing keeping her going. She was pretty banged up, I won’t lie. It’s unexpected that she’ll be cleared for active duty… well, ever again. That’s… That’s assuming she’ll wake up.”

Garrus is keening again, reaching to lean against the console for support, his knees starting to feel weak beneath him. “Wh… What do you mean?” Was that his voice? It sounded so weak and broken.

“She’s uh… She’s been in a coma since we found her. They don’t… They don’t know how to bring her out.”

Garrus must not have taken this news well because he found himself sat entirely on the floor, and he can hear nothing of Joker’s question to Hackett. Liara’s hand is on his shoulder again, and her voice is close to his ear and soft. “She’s alive, Garrus.” Her words echo in his head, and he knows they must have some meaning, but he can’t figure out what that might be.

“Acting Commander Vakarian?”

The Admiral’s voice shakes him out of himself, and he blinks a few times, clearing his throat. “Sir?”

“Command will maintain contact until you and your crew arrive. We’ll keep you apprised if the situation should change.”

Garrus nods to himself and looks down at his hands. “Thank you, sir.”

The Admiral is silent for a long moment before, softly, he admits, “It really is damn good to hear from you.” Then, in his CO voice, he adds, “Hackett out.”

The silence that fills the ship is deafening, everyone sifting through the information they’d just been given. Garrus stares down at his hands again, sat in his lap, his own mind showing him things he hasn’t wanted to think. _Shepard, lying beneath the rubble of the Citadel, her soft lips parted and covered in dried blood. Shepard, gasping his name with her dying breath. Shepard, her violet eyes dulling with the glassiness of death. Shepard—_

There’s a hand on his shoulder again. He jumps a bit at its intrusion, but once he follows it up to the kind, sympathetic face of the pilot, tears in his eyes and a trembling smile behind his beard, Garrus settles a bit. “We’re almost there,” he whispers.

Garrus nods, more to settle himself than anything, and reaches up to pat the pilot’s hand. “Almost there.”

James steps forward and holds a hand out for Garrus to take then he hefts the turian to his feet. The others have begun on their way back to their duties, so as Garrus makes his way to the elevator, he is saved from any unnecessary interactions, but he is not ignorant to the pitiful eyes following him through the ship.

As he steps through the doorway into her cabin, the room which he has desperately tried to keep as she left it, and as he has done so many nights before, he settles into the couch and pulls her hoodie to his face, breathing in her smell. Except now, his sense of hope has been validated, and as he breathes in the familiar mangoes and eezo and _Shepard_, he can’t help the sense of anticipation that fills his body. _I’m coming, Shepard._

Xxx

Four weeks. Spirits, it takes four fucking weeks to make it to Earth. Garrus makes it a point to leave her room as often as he can, and he keeps his head held high despite the overly-sympathetic glances he gets from the crew. Everything must appear business as usual, as his instructors would’ve told him.

Hackett keeps in touch, as promised. Nearly every day he calls to receive updates on their progress, and to keep them apprised of Shepard’s unchanging condition. Four weeks. 29 days, 17 hours, 32 minutes since that first communique. Finally, _finally_, they’ve reached Earth. Garrus takes up position at Joker’s back, hands gripping the seat firmly as he takes in the sight before him. Ravaged, as are so many other planets they’ve visited and passed, with clear patches of devastation even from this orbit. But as they descend into the lower atmospheres, they can see the beginnings of revitalization in the worst parts of it. Garrus’s heart aches for the human crew who are seeing their homeland like this. He worries about Palaven in the back of his mind, always, worries for his family, his friends, as does Tali for her Flotilla. Garrus was pleasantly surprised when both she and Liara said they were coming along to Earth. He supposes now that he shouldn’t have been, that he should’ve known they wouldn’t want to leave Shepard’s side until she was well again. He idly wonders how touched Shepard will be to see that her entire family has come to be with her, wonders if her other family will come to be with her. Grunt especially, she’ll be pleased to see. The possibility that Grunt (or Wrex for that matter) did not survive the battle is absolutely not something that Garrus is willing to consider, because the moment Shepard wakes up and learns that her son has died, there will be hell to pay and Garrus has no doubt in his mind that she will march her tiny human butt up to the Spirits or whomever and glare them down until Grunt is returned to her side.

“Alliance Command this is the Normandy SR-2 requesting permission to land.”

“Copy, Normandy, you’re clear. And welcome home.”

Joker lets out a sigh of relief as the compound comes into view, and Garrus starts tapping his foot impatiently. The second the clamps touch the Normandy, Garrus is at the door, trying to get it to open, and growling impatiently when it forces him to wait until they’re settled and the walkway has extended out to them. Tali is at his side after his third curse, a hand upon his arm. “She’s not going anywhere, Garrus,” she whispers.

Garrus glances at her and clicks his mandibles in response. “Maybe not, but she needs me.”

Tali watches him for a minute, and just when she breathes in to reply, the door whooshes open, and Garrus is released at long last. Hackett and half a dozen humans of important standing are waiting at the end of the dock, and Garrus has to resist the urge to brush past them. Instead, he forces himself to come to a stop and offer a salute in response to the salute that greets them. Hackett looks up at him and gives him a soft smile and a proffered hand. “It’s damn good to see you, Vakarian.”

Garrus nods impatiently, glancing towards the doors. “Yes, sir, same to you.”

Hackett, seeming to understand, nods and gestures towards a human female. “This is Lieutenant Maddison. She’ll take you to our girl. I’ll debrief you later.”

_Our girl. My girl. Shepard. _Garrus practically purrs at the anticipation and nods. “Thank you, sir.”

Hackett opens his mouth to say something else, but Garrus is already moving, and the Lieutenant has to practically run to keep up with him. Hackett doesn’t mind, though, as he’s already greeting the rest of the crew, some of whom are met with teary hugs. The Lieutenant moves beside him and pulls up a data pad which automatically frustrated Garrus. “Commander Vakarian, sir, I’ve been instructed to—”

“Look, Lieutenant. Maddison, is it?” At her nod, he continues. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve got more important things on my mind than whatever questionnaires you’ve been given, alright? Just get me to Shepard.”

She balks for a moment and falls out of step to gape after him, but she seems to understand it’s useless. When she rejoins his side, the pad is put away and she’s grumbling about how her superiors aren’t going to be pleased, but she points the way for him.

They get to a docking bay, then she drives him towards a formidably tall building that reads “Hospital” along the side like a bookend. From there, she leads him to the top floor. As they step off the elevator, they’re greeted by five armed guards, four human and one Krogan. Maddison has to show them some sort of key card and tell them, “This is Vakarian. He’s got special, unlimited clearance. Hackett’s orders.” The guards look him up and down but nod, and they all step aside. _This is it, _Garrus thinks. _She’s here. Shepard’s here. My girl… _The Krogan follows them down the long hall to the only room with a light on and takes up stance outside the door. Maddison clears her throat. “Sir, before you go in—”

Garrus shakes his head and holds a hand up to silence her. “Just let me in.”

She sighs and complies, swiping the key card. The doors _whoosh_ open, and she steps back, bowing her head respectfully.

The first thing Garrus notices is the smell. It’s wrong. Antiseptic and cleanliness overpowers her, and there is no mango shampoo. He shakes it off and takes a step into the room, suddenly filled with trepidation. There’s so much going through his mind that he doesn’t even know how to figure out what he’s thinking, just that he’s afraid to look towards the bed, afraid to see what the Citadel did to her. The doors slide shut behind him and startle him so badly he jumps, but it’s enough to shake him out of his fear. Slowly, cautiously, he looks towards the bed which sits against the far wall, and as soon as his eyes fall upon her, a terrible, painful keening is pulled from the depths of his soul. Each step towards her is more painful than the last, but it’s an addictive kind of pain that grows both better and worse the closer he draws, until at last he is standing at her side and can look upon her properly.

They have her wearing a hospital gown, its off-white paleness washing out what little pink still tinted her skin. Her hair has lost much of its natural sheen, and her curls are left limp and undefined by any attempts at styling. Her cheeks are sullen, much of her muscles have begun to atrophy, and over two dozen new scars of varying sizes and intensities decorate her skin. The worst of it all is the fact that where her left leg should be, the blankets lie flat against the bed, just below her hip. “Spirits, Shepard…” His knees grow weak, and he has to pull the nearby chair over to sit in it, his heart throbbing sharply. Carefully, he reaches forward and slips his hands around one of hers, lifts it to his face, and brushes his forehead against her knuckles. He swallows hard and moves his knuckles to his mouth in an imitation of a kiss. “I’m here, Shepard. And Spirits be damned if I’m ever leaving you again.”

Xxx

The next month comes and goes. Garrus is told the extent of the damage—a prosthetic shoulder had to be made to connect her right arm back to her body (why they didn’t just replace the whole arm, Garrus didn’t think to ask,) and a left leg prosthetic has been made for her leg and can be attached when she wakes up. (The doctor had tried to say “if” but Garrus had growled, literally growled at the man, and he quickly corrected himself.) She suffered extreme head trauma, dozens of broken bones, a shattered hip. Apparently, she’d been pinned beneath quite a bit of rubble when they found her. But she’s alive. There’s activity in her brain which tells them she’s still in there, just that she’s asleep, working through her injuries. They tell him that it’s because of her Cerberus implants that she’s alive, that she’s healing, and <strike>if </strike>when she wakes up, it’ll be because of those implants rather than anything they can do. “It’s frustrating,” the doctor had said, “but all we’re really here to do is to monitor her, keep her comfortable.”

That’s Garrus’s job, now. He talks to her, tells her stories about his time away, not just these past few months but his time on Palaven while she was incarcerated, his time as Archangel, his time before meeting her, things she already knew and things he’d never told her before. Sometimes he reads to her, news about Earth, letters from friends and fans. He bathes her, takes care to style her hair like she would want, and sometimes he does her makeup if he’s feeling particularly optimistic a certain day. He has pushed his bed up to hers, close enough that he can hold her hand while he sleeps, not wanting to risk injuring her further by sleeping in her bed with her. Three times a day, he takes time to move her leg, her arms, trying to work her muscles to keep what’s left of them preserved and maybe even build some of them back up.

Their friends come to visit frequently, of course. Liara, Kaidan, and Tali come nearly every day, while the rest of the crew try to come as often as once a week. Hackett steps in every now and then to, if nothing else than to bring Garrus some new reports he’s received from the Turian military. Since there are no Mass Effect relays in working order anymore, they’ve had to rely on the shaky-at-best communication buoys that are still in place between the Sol and Trebia systems, so many of the missives are weeks old by the time they reach Hackett. But, within them are some tidbits of good news. Garrus’s family has been contacted and informed of his survival, and they sent letters and vids back to him, as well as some of Garrus’s friends, though not as many as he’d have liked. And though the damage on Palaven was too much to hope for a revival of the planet anytime soon, the Turians have plenty of secondary planets to fall back on, and refugees are being sent all over the galaxy. It’s not until four weeks since Garrus has been on planet that word gets back to him about Tuchanka, though that’s more owing to the rickety chain of command of Tuchanka more than it is about communication buoys. Regardless, Hackett is only too pleased to inform Garrus that both Urdnot Wrex and Urnot-Shepard Grunt both survived the attacks. Garrus has to breathe a sigh of relief at that news and pats Shepard’s hand. “Hear that, Vik? Your kid’s alright.” He chuckles more to himself than anything and thanks Hackett for the news.

It’s some weeks after this, nearly eight months to the day since the Citadel that Shepard wakes.

Xxx

She’s in a hospital. She has to be. There’s a weakness and painful stiffness in her whole body that tells her she hasn’t moved for quite some time—weeks, more likely months. Sounds were beginning to come into focus, some quiet chatter, some beeping, the clacking of heels walking far away. _Hospital_. Yes, that seems the right word.

“Oh… Spirits. She… She’s waking up.”

She knows that voice. But from where? She can’t…

“Shepard?” It’s nearer now, very close beside her, soft as a whisper.

“Garrus?” Is that a word? Did it even come from her? It sounded so strange, so foreign.

There’s a pressure, there in her hand. It’s warm and soothing, and her entire being clings to it in an attempt to avoid the rest of the negative sensations coming to light across her body.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s me, Shepard.” His voice sounds off, tense, like he’s trying to keep his voice level.

Another voice starts speaking, on her other side. This one is higher, firmer, definitely belonging to a woman. “Miss Shepard—”

“Hey, show some damn respect!” This new voice is louder, firmer, and familiar, too. _Vega_. That’s the name that comes to mind. “This woman did not sacrifice herself to save this galaxy _twice _to be called _Miss._ It’s _Commander_ to you, understand?” 

The woman clears her throat and continues, “_Commander_ Shepard. My name is Dr. Jameson. You’re in the hospital. If you could, I need you to open your eyes, ok?”

There is a grunting sound, and it takes her a moment to realize that she is the one who made it. It takes an eternity and seemingly more effort than it should take to move a mountain, but she finally does it. The room is blindingly bright for a moment, but her eyes adjust rather quickly, come back into focus. The first thing they notice is the three-fingered hand holding hers, and she followes it (painfully) up the thin arm to the wide carapace, and finally to the angular face with the electric blue eyes that are looking at her with a shocking depth of emotion. There is a weird feeling on her face, and from the breathy laugh Garrus releases, she has to assume she is smiling. She blinks heavily, and for a moment worries she won’t be able to open her eyes again, but she does just as Garrus presses his forehead against her hair. He pulls back and squeezes her hand gently. “Hey,” he whispers.

Her smile widens, and she does her best to squeeze his hand back. “Hey yourself.” She takes a moment to take in the garishly ugly painting behind him before she smirks, a memory coming back to light. “Nobody’s giving me a mirror. How bad is it?”

Garrus chuckles and gestures to her face, the memory resonating with him as well. “Hell, Shepard, you were always ugly. Slap some face paint on there and nobody will know the difference.”

Shepard lets a laugh out then winces. The doctor beside her clears her throat, and Shepard forces herself to turn her head away from Garrus’s adoring eyes. He puts one hand on her head, stroking her hair. The doctor glances at the hand and Shepard can see she is trying not to roll her eyes. “Commander Shepard, I’m Dr. Jameson,” she repeats. “Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?”

Shepard sighs. “Three. My name is Vikara Amarina Shepard. Your dress is blue.” She cleas her throat and tries to sit up, flinching when she can’t. She waves off the doctor’s fussing hands and looks around the room. Vega is there, leaning against the wall at the foot of her bed, and Liara is standing a few feet away. She smiles at both of them then turns back to Garrus. The doctor is talking but she can’t focus, just happy to be back by Garrus’s side.

He raises his mandibles in an approximation of a smile and nods towards the doctor. “I know I’m distractingly handsome, Shepard, but she’s talking to you.”

Shepard lets out a snort, and for what is most likely not the last time that day, flinches at the pain that shoots through her body. With a sigh, she rolls her head back to the doctor. “Get to the point, doc. What’s the damage?”

The doctor raises an eyebrow then purses her lips in exasperation, flipping to a new screen on her clipboard. “Well. Frankly,_ Commander_, you almost died. Er, actually, we think you _did _die, probably a few times.”

Shepard rolls her eyes. “What else is new?”

The doctor looks up at her then glances around at her friends. Garrus grips Shepard’s hand a little tighter. “Just show her,” he whispers.

“Show me what? Gar?” She turns to look back at the Turian then back at the doctor.

Dr. Jameson sets the clipboard down and begins to unclip the sleeve on Shepard’s hospital gown. Shepard has to suppress a gasp when she sees the clear blue that has replaced her skin from where her shoulder meets her neck down through her bicep, the wires and gadgets underneath replacing her muscles and bones. “W… What is that?”

The doctor walks around to Garrus’s side of the bed and lifts the blanket, lying it across her opposite leg. Tears well in Shepard’s eyes, and her breath hitches in her throat. Where Shepard’s right leg should have been now lies something…else. It is the same blue as her shoulder, beginning about three inches below her hip bone. It is shaped like a leg, the same length as her leg, but it is most definitely mechanical in nature.

Suddenly it is difficult to breathe. The doctor is talking again, but this time Shepard can’t hear her because of the pounding in her ears. Her breath is coming erratically now, spurred on by the apparent lack of oxygen, and her body is beginning to tremble. The doctor starts to encroach upon her personal space before Garrus (gently) pushes her away. His face fills Shepard’s vision, and she is vaguely aware of his hands upon either side of his face, of his voice, the deep, warm timber of it, enveloping her like a warm hug, and she feels herself begin to calm, her eyes beginning to focus. His markings, his scars, the sharpness of his chin, the thin gap in his mouth where she can see his sharp teeth. Then his eyes. The eyes she’d spent hours staring into.

“There she is.” His mandibles are raised again, as if he is smiling, and his thumbs brush her cheeks, brush her tears away. God, is she really crying? How embarrassing.

“Garrus?” Her voice is trembling as badly as she is, and internally she is smacking herself. Commander Shepard is better than this.

He nods slightly, one of his hands moving to brush her hair back from her face. “I know. I know. But we’re here. We’re together. We’ll get through this together.” She is nodding, but the world is beginning to swim again. “Hey, heyheyhey. Just breathe. C’mon.” He puts on a mock-serious voice, raises his mandibles in a smirk. “Pull yourself together, soldier.”

She lets out a trembling laugh and nods. “Yes, sir.”

He presses a kiss to her forehead before taking back his seat, and she wipes her face furiously. Part of her is relieved to see that Vega had insisted the doctor clear the room, and he is standing guard outside the door with Liara, from what she can see through the window on the door.

Garrus strokes her hand with one finger and brings it to his mouth, presses it against his beak as if he were kissing it. She smiles slightly, forgetting her mutilations for a moment. “Garrus?” she asks.

He hums in acknowledgement, raises his beautifully blue eyes to look upon her.

“How long?” Speaking hurts, but she’ll be damned if she is going to waste this time.

His eyes drift away from her face, and he has to swallow hard. After clearing his throat, he rubs his cheek against the back of her hand, his eyes closed. “Eight months.”

“Eight…” She blinks, nods to herself, lays her head back. “No wonder I’m achy,” she tries to joke.

Garrus runs his hand down her arm, talons gently teasing her skin, rising goosebumps in its path. “It took us six months to get back.” His voice cracks slightly, but he shakes it off. “I’ve been doing my best to be a pain in the ass for the doctors in your place for two whole months now,” he chuckles weakly.

She smiles slightly, brushes her thumb along his nose. “**So, it was you.** I thought I heard someone talking to me,” she whispers.

Garrus smiles, presses his mouth to her hand again then leans forward to breathe kisses along her face. “Of course, it was me. We’re in this to the end, remember?”

She tilts her head up, brushes a kiss against his chin, and a strange sound comes from his subvocals, almost like a purring chirp. It makes her smile as she lays her head back on the bed. “I’m sorry, sir,” she breathes. “I think I technically disobeyed your orders, seeing as how you had to come to me and all.”

He chuckles as he sits back down, slipping his hand to hold her forearm. “Well, you get a gold star for the alive part.”

“Ooh, lucky me,” she smirks.

Garrus chuckles, and they share a few more moments just looking at one another, enjoying each other’s company before Vega taps slightly on the glass. The doctor is getting impatient, if her bickering is any indication. Garrus sighs and waves a hand towards the door. “Alright, Vega.”

James nods and stands to the side to allow the now very disgruntled doctor through the door. She rights her shirt as she does and scowls over her shoulder at him, then puts on a blindingly fake grin for Shepard. “Now then, Miss Shepard—”

Within the same breath, all three of Shepard’s companions correct the doctor, which successfully puts a grin on Shepard’s face.


End file.
